Showing posts with label sunday short stack. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sunday short stack. Show all posts
Sunday, July 12, 2026
🎅🎆🎄Sunday's Short Stack-Xmas in July🎄🎆🎅: Nice and Snow by Clare London
With a Kick #6
Nuri’s expecting a quiet Christmas, driving his cab, doing some studying, enjoying good food and drink – and devoting some serious loving to boyfriend Eduardo. Occasionally he misses his homeland of Turkey, but he’s content to share the London celebrations with Eddy.
But what with Eddy’s distress over his new role at the local comedy club, interference in their love life from Nuri’s irrepressible brothers, a disturbing number of costumed Santas on the street, the dangerous slush on the roads, and then the portly, bearded man dressed in red, in need of an urgent cab ride…
It doesn’t look like things will be that quiet after all!
Original Review January 2024:
I'll admit as I haven't read any of the With a Kick stories, I had a bit of a hard time getting into this story. I say "a bit" because it only took half a dozen pages or so but it wasn't instant from word one. I wasn't lost but it took a few pages to connect to the characters already established relationship, I look forward to going back and seeing their beginning in A Twist and Two Balls, hopefully in 2024.
Even with that few-page-to-connect start, I loved the chemistry between Nuri and Eddy, it's realistic and fun. When one has to don the Santa suit for work they find a passenger in Nuri's taxi that might give them a little different take on the red suit and the man inside.
Yep, another deliciously fun holiday novella from Clare London.
RATING:
Nuri’s boyfriend was causing him indigestion.
Well, it may have been partly due to the oversized portions of supper at his brothers’ Turkish restaurant, but there were emotional reasons too. Eduardo was a constant delight—Nuri wouldn’t want anyone to think he had any complaint, for goodness sake, he’d never been happier—but Eduardo was a man who needed Nuri’s attention and care.
Right now, Eddy—his real name—was staring at Nuri over the dining table with dark suspicion in his eyes. “There was a group of them in the club last night,” he said. Eddy was a compere at the local Soho comedy club, a job that Nuri thought he did extremely well. He loved to watch Eddy up on stage, with no sign of the nerves he’d suffered as a dramatic actor, but now playing to the crowd with his impressions and clever mimicry as he bridged the gap between the comedians’ sets.
“I think you may be overreacting.” Nuri smiled to himself, knowing what “them” Eddy was talking about. Not that he wouldn’t have stepped to Eddy’s defence if there were any real threat to him.
“But it was spooky, you know? There’ve been so many around recently. Remember the crowd we saw in the pub last night? And I’ve spotted some on the bus, and at lots of stations on the Tube. They don’t seem to care where or when they’re seen. Do you know, I bumped into one at the supermarket, too, when I went for more milk.”
“What was he buying?”
Eddy glanced swiftly at Nuri. “Are you teasing me?”
Nuri smiled openly. He was sure—wasn’t he?—that Eddy didn’t really mind, because he knew Nuri’s teasing was never cruel, only fond. Nuri just couldn’t resist sometimes. And humour was so often part of the bedroom foreplay between them, leading up to some pretty sweaty and impressive—
“Squid!” announced Nuri’s brother Adem, delivering a large plate onto their table with a flourish and a thud. “It go extra with the kofte I bring, you call… ballocks?”
“Balls. Meatballs,” Eddy said, his voice strained. “You also brought dolma, extra halloumi, and then skewers of souvlaki. There’s too much food here, Adem.”
“Never,” Nuri muttered, reaching eagerly for the new plate. He absently brushed a crumb of bread from his beard. Their early supper at the restaurant had become a familiar routine, especially on the days Eddy finished work after a matinee show. Of course, the trade-off was that they both had to suffer Nuri’s brothers’ attention, especially about their love life. Nuri’s family had welcomed Eddy very warmly and didn’t seem to have a problem with the two men all but living together. But just now and then…
Adem remained staring at Eddy, his brown eyes bright with mischief. “I like hear your words, Eduardo. Very amusing, the way you say my words.”
“For heaven’s sake.” Eddy rolled his eyes. “Your English seems to be getting worse, not better, ever since I offered to help you with your London pronunciation. I could almost believe you play up the hapless Turkish accent act when Nuri and I are here.”
Nuri caught Adem’s eye and frowned at him. Adem winked back, and ran his tongue along his lower lip in a bizarre leer. Then he swung on his heel, his waist apron fluttering against his smart black trousers, and darted over to another table that needed service. He may have been swishing his hips just a little too much to be natural.
“He’s teasing me too, right?” Eddy said glumly.
“Of course,” Nuri said. He covered Eddy’s hand with his own, their hands pale and darker-skinned together on the red tablecloth. “He likes to pretend he understands the gay way. But he likes winding you around as well.”
“Winding me up,” Eddy corrected automatically, then caught sight of Nuri’s grin. “Oh God, you’re doing it too! Why am I suddenly the sole source of entertainment around here?”
Nuri tightened his hand, a little alarmed by Eddy’s tone. “What’s really wrong?”
“Wrong?”
Nuri knew Eddy’s denial tactics of old. He didn’t press him, but poured a small measure of raki into Eddy’s glass, then topped it up with water from the nearby jug. Eddy watched with his usual fascination as the liquid clouded to milky white. He’d grown very accustomed to the taste over the last few months with Nuri. “Drink this,” Nuri said softly. “You need it.”
Eddy sighed, but took a sip. Nuri knew the exact moment the sharp aniseed flavour tickled Eddy’s taste buds, because his nose wrinkled with delight. Nuri resisted the urge to reach over and smooth out the wrinkles. To hell with it. He just liked to touch Eddy, wherever and whenever.
“I’m not angry at Adem,” Eddy said. “Or you. You’re my rock, you know that?”
“I know that. But you are disturbed, I think.”
“Okay. Yes. A bit.” Eddy examined the table cloth as closely as if it held a secret treasure map and only he could decipher the code.
“Tell me,” Nuri urged. “You’re not really frightened?”
Eddy flushed. “God, that’d be childish, wouldn’t it? But it does seem bizarre. I’m beginning to feel stalked by them.”
Nuri shook his head. “You must be sensible about this. They’re common enough here in London. Especially at this time of year. We all see them.”
With a startling thump, Adem dropped into the seat beside Eddy. “What is this stalking?” For the first time that night, he dropped his sardonic look and seemed genuinely concerned for Eddy.
“Stalkers?” Sadi, Nuri’s other brother and co-owner of the restaurant, paused behind Adem’s chair, his hands full of crockery cleared from another table. “Eddy, are you having trouble at the club?”
“This month of December is very full of danger,” Adem said sombrely. “The shoplifters and pocket pickers are everywhere. I will lend you my sister’s mace spray. If you blind some person, Nuri will defence you in court when he is qualified as lawyer.”
“Defend. And no, it’s all right, I’m not talking about thieves.”
“Sex slavers?” Adem looked even more appalled. “They like young boys as well as the girls. Though…” He gave Eddy the once-over with what looked alarmingly like professional appraisal. “I think you are not so young any more, and they will not want one who wriggles as you do when a man like Nuri clasps you close—”
“Enough,” Nuri said, rather sharply, though he doubted Adem would pay any heed. He never had before. “Eddy’s talking about the pretend Father Christmases. They seem to be very plentiful this year.”
Adem and Sadi stared at him as if he’d just beamed down off the Millenium Falcon.
Nuri sighed. “The people dressed as Father Christmas, you know? Big bellies, red jacket and trousers, thick white beard.”
“Sounds like our new chef,” Sadi muttered. He leaned over the table toward Eddy and put on a sympathetic expression. “I understand how you feel,” he said. “Some people are scared of clowns.”
“And beetles,” Adem added.
Sadi didn’t look away from Eddy, but managed to reach over and clip his brother around the ear with deadly accuracy. “Those are weevils,” he hissed. “From old flour. And it’s perfectly reasonable to hate them in a restaurant.”
“It’s not fear. I’m fine.” Eddy laughed at the banter. But the laugh was shaky.
Nuri was concerned. He had walked with Eddy from the club to the restaurant and had seen an example of this effect. When a young Santa crossed their path by the Chinese grocer’s, Eddy had shivered and shrunk back against Nuri’s side. As far as Nuri could see, it was just a skinny young man dressed up for fun, the tee shirts he’d used to pad himself peeking out from under his tunic, a soppy smile on his face, and a rather strong smell of beer on his breath. Nuri noticed the guy’s shopping bags clinking as he passed, but had nodded an easy good evening to him. Eddy hadn’t. Nuri suspected there was still more to this situation, but he couldn’t—wouldn’t—rush Eduardo.
A customer waved from the other side of the room, and Adem and Sadi moved away from the table.
“Tell me what is really worrying you,” Nuri said quietly to Eddy. He didn’t want his brothers zeroing back in on their problems, however amusing they found it. “I see it in your expression.”
“See what?”
“That it’s not just about the Father Christmases,” Nuri said patiently.
“Well, it is and it isn’t. Sometimes I think you’re psychic.” Eddy had on his 101-Dalmation-puppy look. “Patrick asked me to help host a Christmas Eve party at With A Kick. For the children, in the afternoon. It was such a great success last year, and they love the ice creams. All non-alcoholic for the kids, of course,” he hurried to add.
“Of course.”
“Apparently the guy who played Santa wants a break from it this year.”
Nuri nodded encouragingly. “You are an actor, Eduardo. I don’t see the problem.”
“Dressing up as Father Christmas? As Santa?”
Nuri’s eyes widened just a fraction. “As I say, I don’t see…”
Eddy groaned. “I don’t believe in Santa, Nuri. The whole thing is a bit creepy, men dressing in ill-fitting costumes with stupid cotton-wool beards. What sort of idiot am I going to look?”
Never to me, Nuri thought, and smiled encouragingly. “You’ll have a good time. You have a gift with entertaining children. And you love Christmas.” He and Eddy had never shared one before, but Eddy had been gazing at sparkly decorations in shop windows since October.
“I do. Yes, I do. It’s just the Santas I find weird. I don’t like them, and especially the fake ones.”
“How can there be fake ones without a real one to compare?”
“Smart arse,” Eddy muttered.
Nuri looked longingly at the plate of aromatic, steaming squid, but instead he concentrated on Eddy’s distress. “In Turkey, he is real.”
“He’s… sorry?”
“Baba Noel. Where all the Father Christmas stories began. He was a genuine Turkish man.” Eddy started to laugh, but Nuri frowned at him. “No, it’s true. The history is believed to begin with a bishop from Demre, in modern-day Turkey, who wanted to help poor people, but in secret. He helped girls without dowry, and also became the patron saint of children and sailors. Though I’m not sure of the connection between those groups. It’s said he climbed on roofs and dropped coins down the chimneys.”
Nuri loved the way Eddy’s face expressed everything he was thinking, even while Eddy himself thought he was being so discreet. At the moment, Eddy was obviously wondering how to challenge Nuri on such a ridiculously bizarre lie. And yet, Nuri knew it was the truth. Lucky he didn’t take offence that Eddy disbelieved the history of Nuri’s heritage. Poor Eddy was a victim of his British upbringing. Nuri loved him all the more for it.
Clare LondonClare London took her pen name from the city where she lives, loves, and writes. A lone, brave female in a frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home, she juggles her writing with her other day job as an accountant.
She’s written in many genres and across many settings, with award-winning novels and short stories published both online and in print. She says she likes variety in her writing while friends say she’s just fickle, but as long as both theories spawn good fiction, she’s happy. Most of her work features male/male romance and drama with a healthy serving of physical passion, as she enjoys both reading and writing about strong, sympathetic, and sexy characters.
Clare currently has several novels sulking at that tricky chapter-three stage and plenty of other projects in mind… she just has to find out where she left them in that frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home.
Clare loves to hear from readers, and you can contact her on all her social media.
EMAIL: clarelondon11@yahoo.co.uk
Sunday, June 28, 2026
🌈Sunday's Short Stack🌈: The Demon and the Librarian by Chloe Archer
Monsters Hollow #0.75
Yuki
Accidentally summoning a sexy demon at work totally isn’t my fault. It’s because of that new addictive soap opera, The Young and the Monstrous, I tell you! They just had to introduce a new mega-hot demon character, so of course I needed to do some research! But my insatiable librarian curiosity has gotten me into hot water, because now I’m magically shackled to a demon who claims he’s my mate. That can’t be a real thing, right? It’s got to be some kind of demon trick...
Kassiel
Being summoned is every demon’s fantasy. Some wait centuries for the momentous occasion. At barely two hundred years of age, I get my lucky day! The Interdimensional Gong of Demonic Destiny rings for little ole me! Wooing Yuki should be a walk in the park, but my trusty seductive wiles aren’t working on my prickly mate—and the clock is ticking. I only have two weeks to convince him to accept our bond or it will be permanently severed. My work is cut out for me, but I’ll do whatever it takes to sneak into his heart.
The Demon and the Librarian: A Cozy M/M Monster Romance is a 30k novella in the Monsters Hollow universe featuring: a dapper demon dandy with a penchant for fine clothing, a far too curious librarian, a summoning involving dirty limericks, a holy water fail, food as the way to any being’s heart, forced proximity, fated mates, and an HEA ending. *Previously published in the Fated Mates MM Paranormal Romance charity anthology of 2023.
Chapter One
Building Interspecies Tolerance, Connections, and Hope (BITCH): An Otherkind and Human Relations Forum
Discussion Thread—Demons
MasterLibrarian: So, hypothetically speaking, how would one send back a demon one has accidentally summoned?
FeistyFurDaddy: Uh-oh. You’re in trouble, bro.
MasterLibrarian: NOT helping.
FeistyFurDaddy: I don’t know a lot about demons but they’re tricky bastards to get rid of if they’ve set their sights on you.
MoonMistress: You do realize that “summoning” a demon isn’t anything like human cultures imagine, right?
FeistyFurDaddy: Doesn’t summoning a demon mean you’re their mate? *wide eyes emoji*
MasterLibrarian: Motherfucking balls.
MoonMistress: FFD is right. Only a mate can summon a demon to their realm—usually by discovering an object magically bonded to the demon that has been seeking them across different dimensions. It’s so romantic!
MasterLibrarian: Like a magical fucking mate detector or something?
FeistyFurDaddy: Winner, winner, chicken dinner!
MasterLibrarian: Son of a bitch! *facepalm* So it’s true. I thought it was just a line to get in my pants.
FeistyFurDaddy: Holy shit! You ACTUALLY summoned a demon and you’re their mate? I thought you were just fantasizing about Xavier on The Young and the Monstrous again. Damn. This is epic!
MasterLibrarian: Do not talk smack about the best soap opera EVER!
FeistyFurDaddy: Hell no, man. I love the show too. I’ve heard they’re going to be adding a rougarou character soon and I’m so damn stoked!
MasterLibrarian: This demon I’ve summoned is the real deal. And no, it is NOT epic. Um…is there any way I can send him back to his dimension?
MoonMistress: Oh my! This is getting quite complicated.
YUKI
Glancing around guiltily, but still finding myself alone, I open my laptop and pull up the most recent episode of my latest obsession, The Young and the Monstrous, a brand-new daytime soap opera with a predominantly Otherkind cast. It's the first show of its kind to air on television and I can’t get enough of it.
Like most soap operas, it’s campy, melodramatic, and over-the-top in all the best ways possible. Everyone here in town is addicted to the show, eagerly waiting for each new episode to drop. It’s the hot topic of conversation everywhere I go lately.
Hotbeing the key word here.
The show’s producers were fucking brilliant when they decided to cast some of the sexiest Otherkind characters I’ve ever seen on the show. There’s the brooding hunkalicious gargoyle, Gareth; the majorly ripped orc always looking for a fight, Dyrk; the studly minotaur wooing several female characters at the same time, Naebon; the gorgeous gorgon with a tortured past, Raphael; and now—the newest addition to the cast—the sexy-as-fuck demon doctor, Xavier. Ever since he came on screen for the first time, I’ve had hot demons on the brain!
Munching on some senbei–aka Japanese rice cracker snacks, aka my favorite–I watch the episode on my laptop, eyes glued to the screen. The latest storyline centers around the mysterious Xavier, who arrived in the show’s fictional town a few episodes ago and promptly started causing a boatload of mischief behind the scenes. So far, he’s sort of a Trickster-esque villain, but one I wouldn’t mind seducing me for a night!
I know I shouldn’t be indulging in my guilty pleasure at work, but it's almost midnight on a Friday night, and Mystic Hollow’s brand-new night school library is deader than disco. Not exactly surprising, since most students have far better things to do on a Friday evening than studying in the library. Granted, we haven’t enrolled a huge number of students yet since we’ve only been open for a week. Aimed at all ages of Otherkind in town, the night school is similar to a community college and was created to meet the varied educational needs of those nocturnal species unable to attend during traditional school times. Our dean, in coordination with the town’s mayor, is actively working to recruit new town residents with the lure of two-year degree programs, professional training certificate courses, and continuing education classes that can all be taken at night.
I've only been in town two weeks myself, newly hired as one of three librarians in this brand-new facility. As I quickly discovered, I'm also one of only a handful of humans residing in Mystic Hollow—a real-life Sanctuary town that is a magically protected safe space for non-humans.
I’d never lived in a place like this before, but when the job opening listed, I jumped at the opportunity. A night owl by nature, I've always felt more comfortable in jobs that allow me to work late hours. Besides, as a freshly minted librarian with my master’s degree in library science, I’d been keen to find a position almost anywhere. In our current economic climate, and with constant funding cuts to education and colleges and universities slashing their library budgets, librarian positions are few and far between these days. Fuck you very much, politicians and crappy administrators!
No matter how desperate most human librarians are to find a position, few were vying for this opening in “Monsters Hollow,” as it’s often referred to by the outside world. As a queer, half-Japanese man with a love of cosplay, comic books, and board games, I understand what it’s like to be treated as different. Honestly, I've never been scared of Otherkind. In fact, I’ve always found them to be far less terrifying than my fellow humans.
Some of them are even seriously sexy in my book.
Case in point—the mega-hot demon on The Young and the Monstrous who has taken off his shirt at least three times–praise the network gods!—by the time the show ends on yet another cliffhanger. I’m left wondering if Xavier is going to seduce half the town in his first week there.
Are all demons major horndogs or what?
The question niggles at my mind, needing to be answered. Tired of twiddling my thumbs at the reference desk while waiting for non-existent students in need of my expert assistance, I look around the empty library and decide it's time for me to do what I do best—research.
When it comes to the quest for knowledge, a librarian can never resist the lure of the stacks. I’m no exception.
I can't let this go, no matter how I try. I need answers. Damn Xavier and his super-hot demon bod for infiltrating my psyche!
Although I took a class on Otherkind species in university, it was purely introductory and only touched on the dozens of different beings. As a result, I don't know very much about demons, only that they're nothing like human religious traditions have imagined. They aren’t former angels banished to hell with Satan. Nor are they inherently evil. Rather, they’re an Otherkind species from another dimension. They can travel between realms with ease and sometimes like to visit this world.
Now, though, I need all the information I can find on them. Trust me, I’ll never be satisfied until I have a thick stack of books in my hot little hand!
In the comfortable silence of the library, I stroll down the neatly shelved stacks, letting that favorite of researchers everywhere, the Library of Congress Classification System, be my guide to any books we might have on demons and demonology. There’s a reassuring peace in the tidily organized rows of shelves I pass. And the smell! Nothing beats the aroma of books, from old, dusty tomes to crisp, newly printed texts. I love them all.
When I get to the appropriate shelf, I begin scanning the titles: Demons Didn't Do It! A Defense of a Misunderstood Species; Demons vs. Djinn: A History of Interspecies Feuds, Follies, and Fisticuffs; Down and Dirty with Demons: A Beginner’s Guide to Demon Sexual Behaviors. I snort in amusement at that last one but make a mental note to come back to it.
I pause, however, when I come to a book without a title on its spine and missing a label for cataloging purposes. It’s haphazardly shelved and out of place and immediately sparks my interest—and frankly, annoyance. How did an uncatalogued book end up shelved in my library?
I reach up and grip the spine.
The instant my hand makes contact, an electric spark races through my fingertips and up my arm, nearly making my hair stand on end like I’m a Super Saiyan in one of my old-school anime faves, Dragonball Z.
Part of me is screaming to let the book go and back the fuck away. I should wait until one of my magically inclined colleagues can examine this properly. Although it’s unlikely to be dangerous—the magic guarding this town surely wouldn’t have let someone with evil intentions bring this in, right?—the book is definitely suspicious.
For several heartbeats, I stare at the mysterious text, unable to let go. My insatiable curiosity mounts and with a snarl of irritation, I pull it down, my fingers still tingling from the obvious magic it possesses. Almost consumed by intrigue, I stare at the slim volume in my hand. It’s bound in some kind of black leather-like material that appears quite old and dusty, but durable. There’s some obvious wear and tear to the cover’s edges, but otherwise the spine is intact and it looks in good condition.
Opening it carefully, I find the first page blank. No title, nothing.
“Odd,” I murmur to myself with a frown.
Maybe it’s some kind of unused journal that got lost?
I flip to the next page and hit pay dirt. Here, written in the graceful penmanship of a bygone era, I find an unusual inscription:
Dearest reader,
If you have stumbled across this book, then it is indeed your most fortuitous destiny! To learn more about the tantalizing secrets this book contains, you will need to read each word aloud before the next is revealed to you. Don’t stop or you’ll miss out! Be sure to read until you get to the very end. Your perseverance will be rewarded handsomely, I assure you. I hope you enjoy this magical little moment that only you will get to experience. After all, you, and you alone, were meant to find this book!
Yours,
A Dashing and Desirable Demon
What. The. Fuck.
On the one hand, this sounds beyond ridiculous. Like someone’s bad idea of a joke.
I glance around me, the silence of the library still a reassuring indicator that I’m all by myself. I don’t think any of my co-workers are trying to punk me, but I haven’t exactly made my fixation on The Young and Monstrous a secret.
On the other hand, the inscription in the book has piqued my interest and I can’t not follow the instructions now. I simply have to know what happens at the end.
It’s the same fucking reason I can never DNF books. I always have to finish them even if I don’t want to.
Damn the cheeky fucker who wrote this book! It’s as if they knew I couldn’t resist a puzzle like this. Have they been stalking me? Did they plant this just for me to find on a night when I’m all alone in the library? Another warning bell goes off in the back of my brain.
No, I’m being paranoid. I barely know anyone in this town yet!
Nevertheless, I should probably wait until one of my colleagues arrives in the morning before I do anything. This book clearly contains some kind of spell that I have to read aloud, which is never something to mess with—especially when you’re a human with no understanding of such things whatsoever.
Yes.
Waiting would be wise.
What the book contains can’t possibly be that exciting or interesting.
Right?
The burning need to uncover the book’s secrets blows away every single one of my responsible thoughts and good intentions.
Cheerfully tossing my internal pep talk of rationality out the window, I turn the page and slowly begin to read aloud each word as they materialize on the page in front of me.
I instantly question my life choices.
There once was a demon so hot,
Everyone he wanted, he got.
With a thrust of his hips
And a nip of his lips,
Of lovers he fucked quite a lot.
I gape at quite possibly the lamest dirty limerick I’ve ever encountered. This book may possess magic, but its author was no wordsmith. Despite my better judgment, I continue. I’m in this now and there’s no turning back.
The subject of demon mates is quite thorny,
Especially since we are always so horny.
But never you fear,
My epic self is almost here,
To make you super-hot and ready for me!
My mouth twitches in amusement and I snort. Who the fuck wrote this drivel? But I can’t stop reading. The rhyming is amusing in a crass kind of way, and I want to see what else they come up with.
By now you’re probably feeling quite needy,
So I’ll make the rest of this speedy.
Call forth my name and you’ll be in luck
Because I’ll show up, ready to fuck,
And soon you’ll scream my name—Kassiel the Greedy!
As the last ridiculous word slips off my tongue, the odd little book warms in my hand and starts to vibrate.
“What the fu—” I start to say, the words dying on my lips when an interdimensional portal begins to open a few feet away from me, the magic circle growing and widening until I can see a silhouette on the other side.
Holy fucknuggets. What the hell have I done?
While on some level I realize I should do something about this situation I’ve gotten myself into, I simply stand and gawk like a fool. That warning signal going off in my brain is now a fire-alarm bell blaring with all its might, but it’s entirely too late for me to heed it as a tall and extremely dapper-looking demon who makes Xavier seem ordinary steps through the portal and into my library.
Hot. Motherfucking. Damn.
Apparently, all demons are unfairly gorgeous.
He’s dressed in a black, finely tailored suit that gleams in the light like satin. It fits his powerful body like a glove. A white, ruffled dress shirt from another era—or perhaps I should say dimension—complete with a crimson-colored brocade waistcoat, and a pair of elegant red wingtip shoes round out the look. The demon’s long, dark hair falls well past his shoulders in thick, silky strands, and his gold-colored eyes are framed by lush, sooty lashes that would have made silent cinema legend Rudolph Valentino weep with envy. His complexion is a warm, caramel color and his face is a surprising but sexy mix of high, angular cheekbones and a hard, square jawline, combined with plush, biteable red lips and large, doe-like eyes that look naturally rimmed with kohl.
When he grins, I detect a hint of fang that makes me gulp while my traitorous cock decides to perk up in my jeans.
Not good! Not good!
The demon strolls toward me with a look of burning purpose in his otherworldly eyes.
I swallow again and begin backing away.
The demon seems to like that because his grin grows wider.
Fuckity fuck, fuck, fuck!
I notice that he’s using, with an insouciant flair, a rather debonair cane as he prowls after me, in a way that suggests it’s more of a fashion accessory than an ambulatory necessity. All he’s missing is a damn top hat. Then he’d well and truly be the epitome of a demon dandy.
Oscar Wilde, eat your heart out!
Although I suspect the impressive black, ram-like horns on his head might make wearing a top hat rather challenging.
The thought surprises a nervous laugh from my lips before I stumble against a wall, realizing too late that I’ve backed up as far as I can go.
The dashing demon crowds in close, leaning down to sniff me like a weirdo. When he pulls back, his gold eyes seem to spark like the embers of a banked fire kindled to life again. “I should have known my mate would be such an utterly delectable morsel.”
His voice is deep and resonant but also surprisingly posh and British. Is that a thing with demons? I must check with my forum friends. Honestly, deep down, I think I expected him to sound more Cockney, like Crowley on Supernatural. Between the voice and the clothes, this demon could be a damn aristocrat.
It should annoy me, but fucking hell, it turns me on.
Wait.
What??
“Mate? The fuck you say?”
He licks his tempting lips. “Darling, I am your mate, Kassiel. Enchanté.”
Chloe Archer writes queer sci-fi and paranormal rom coms with laugh out loud humor because she’s all about bringing the funny-sexy back. Oh, yeah!
She currently call Minnesota home, but has lived abroad in places like Montreal, Edinburgh, and Tokyo. She’s hoping to relocate to Scotland permanently in the next few years if the stars align.
Chloe is a fur mama to two adorable Yorkies, Jasper and Teddy, and she loves them in a crazy dog mama kind of way. When she isn’t busy writing, she enjoys visiting friends and family, traveling, reading, binge watching movies and TV shows, and practicing her karaoke skills. She does a mean cover of Pat Benatar and Cher, or so she’s been told.
EMAIL: chloe@chloearcher.com
Monsters Hollow Series
Sunday, June 21, 2026
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